Chapter 12 #2
They were dangerous words. Like a pact, or an oath, and Aberlour feared them as much as he ached for them. He gave Oli a firm nod but didn’t speak. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to talk. Not right then at any rate.
Suddenly, they heard the chopper approaching rapidly. Team Specter jumped into action, no longer noticing how wet and tired they felt. This was the last push to get them home. They gritted their teeth and helped Carlos onto the helo without speaking, all exhausted and worried about their comrade.
Carlos would be fine. Aberlour silently repeated that to himself as he paced the waiting room outside sick bay.
The rest of Team Specter was spread around the room.
JD was lying down on the floor, his jacket rolled into a pillow, sound asleep.
Oliver had gone in search of a hot shower at Aberlour’s insistence.
The sound of Oliver’s teeth chattering had not been helping his frayed nerves.
Ghost was sitting quietly in the corner of the room.
He’d already called his wife to talk for a few minutes.
They couldn’t say much, but he could at least let her know he was still alive.
Marcus had gone to contact Sabine, muttering something about life being short as he’d left the waiting room.
The medical team went to work on Carlos immediately, pumping him full of fluids and plasma before taking him to the operating room so they could dig the bullet out of his shoulder. It wasn’t a major operation. He’d be fine. He’d be fine.
Carlos would be fine.
It didn’t matter how many times Aberlour said it, he still didn’t believe it. His hands were clenched, his fingers digging into his skin as exhaustion, worry, and impatience swirled inside of him, transforming his usually calm disposition into one filled with a wretched, almost animalist anger.
“It was an accident,” Ghost said, the sound of his voice startling Aberlour.
“Accidents are avoidable,” Aberlour said. It was an old saying his mother had been fond of. He’d never used it before. How odd that her well-used expression should tumble out of his mouth so readily.
“The kid in the jungle got spooked. He was a terrible shot. He wasn’t aiming for Carlos.
” Ghost had said the same thing during their short briefing earlier with their commanding officer.
Their commander had simply nodded and told them he’d need the full report later, along with an update on Carlos’ condition.
“He knows that.” Oliver spoke from behind Aberlour.
Aberlour hadn’t even heard Oliver come back into the waiting room, which was a clear sign that he wasn’t in the best shape.
“Does it fucking change anything? No. So—” Aberlour gritted his teeth and resumed pacing.
“Abe—” Oliver began, taking a step in his direction. Aberlour held up a hand to ward him off. He didn’t want to be held or reassured. He felt like a wolverine was crawling around inside his chest, desperate to get out. If Oliver came near, he’d probably punch him.
Having read the warning signs, Oliver stopped and raised his hands in surrender.
“Boys,” Marcus suddenly called out, as he came running into the room, his eyes wide like he’d seen Madonna on deck. He seemed—rattled, yes, but also—excited? It was an odd thought, knowing their teammate laid in the operating room.
Aberlour didn’t have time to ask why Marcus looked ecstatic as Dr. Fryer, the surgeon, walked in wearing a pleased smile.
Aberlour felt his legs give out, but he caught himself against the wall.
“Staff Sergeant Castillo will be fine. We were able to remove the bullet and the damage to his shoulder seems limited. He got lucky. He should be as good as new in a few weeks.”
The room exploded with cheers and whoops. Without realizing how it happened, Aberlour’s arms were wrapped around Oliver, who clutched him with all his might.
“Can we see him?” Marcus asked once the noise had died down.
Dr. Fryer gave a curt nod but held up a warning hand. “He’s lost a lot of blood. He’ll be weak. You can go in a few at a time, if you promise to behave,” she cautioned with an amused twinkle in her eye.
These guys were no strangers to her. She’d patched them up more than a few times. She knew how rowdy they could get. Once she’d extracted promises that they would all behave themselves around Carlos, she headed back out the door.
“I told you he’d be fine,” Oliver whispered, a few inches from his ear, breath hot against his skin.
Aberlour turned to face the sparkling blue gaze and it took everything he had to keep from kissing Oliver, right there in the waiting room. He settled for squeezing him in a one-armed hug.
“Boys!” Marcus said, calling them back to attention. They all turned to look at him inquiringly.
“Well—I guess—” Marcus chuckled as they waited for him to continue. “I called Sabine. We’re pushing the wedding forward. As soon as we’re back stateside, I’m getting hitched, and you’re all my best men!” He sounded as if he couldn’t contain the news any longer.
Another wave of cheers went up. JD, who’d finally woken up, threw himself at Marcus, sending both of them tumbling to the floor. Oliver followed closely behind.
When they finally managed to get everyone back on their feet, Aberlour offered Marcus a quick congratulatory hug.
Ghost, JD, and Oliver were the first ones to go visit Carlos. Aberlour and Marcus hung back.
“I’m really happy for you,” Aberlour said sincerely.
Marcus smiled up at Abe, looking beyond thrilled. “Thanks. Life’s short you know. After today, I just couldn’t wait any longer.”
Aberlour nodded enthusiastically and squeezed Marcus’ shoulder.
“Love looks good on you,” Aberlour told Marcus.
“On you too,” Marcus replied, shocking Aberlour into silence.
Before he could ask what he’d meant—or even summoned enough courage to do so—Oliver popped his head around the edge of the door, interrupting them.
“Dr. Fryer says we can come in all at once, so that way we’ll fuck off faster,” he said, grinning from to ear.
Marcus headed out the door to follow Oliver, leaving Aberlour alone in the waiting room, completely baffled and thoroughly shocked.
The problem with Navy ships was that they were filled with Navy personnel.
Whoever had decided that shoving a bunch of Marines in close quarters with Navy guys was a good idea had obviously never met a Marine. It was a bonfire in the making as far as Aberlour was concerned, and whenever the flames erupted, he was less than surprised.
Several days had passed since they’d returned from the Peruvian jungle.
Carlos was healing slowly but surely, and it would be another two weeks before they were expected to depart for another mission.
They’d be getting five days off starting the next day, as they had to meet with a major general at the naval base in Hawaii concerning the intel and cargo they’d brought back.
Once their meeting was over, Team Specter had made indulgent plans to sunbathe, fuck around, and get a little drunk.
Within six days, they’d be back on this hellish tin can, on their way to another war zone.
Such was their life in Recon. This five-day pass couldn’t have come at a better time.
They were elated that Carlos would be fine and that when they eventually got home, they’d have a lovely wedding to attend.
This helped them get their sleep-deprived bodies through a day of boring meetings and a lengthy debriefing.
They’d been on this cursed boat for what felt like forever, and they were all getting cabin fever.
Both Team Specter and the Navy crew were impatient to reach the next base.
On top of everything, the seas were angry.
Aberlour had trouble keeping his breakfast down most mornings.
Even the sailors were getting annoyed. Abe had lost count of the number of altercations he’d caught wind of in the past two days.
Which meant, when chaos erupted in the middle of the mess hall on Saturday morning, Aberlour didn’t even turn to look.
He’d just finished training and was grabbing some food before heading out for a few more hours of PT.
He’d lost track of where everyone else was.
JD and Marcus had gone for a jog around the ship.
Oliver and Ghost had disappeared before he’d made it back.
It didn’t matter. They’d catch up with each other eventually.
They had to clean and count tonight, which usually meant they would shoot the shit while cleaning guns. Not a bad way to spend the night.
“Fucking fag!”
Aberlour rolled his eyes but wasn’t moved by the insult. He didn’t even bother looking up from his plate of rubbery eggs.
The altercation escalated with plates breaking, chairs getting thrown, and a lot of raised voices. He was still too tired to care. He’d seen plenty of bloody noses and black eyes during his years in the military. It would take a whole lot more than—
“Darling!” Someone yelled.
Aberlour was halfway across the room before he even realized it.
Of all the people on this goddamned ship, Oliver was probably the least likely to be baited into a fight, and yet, there he was.
The asshole was holding a young Seaman by the collar, punching him like he didn’t mean for the guy to ever wake up.
“Darling!” Marcus shouted as he pushed through the gathered crowd, desperate to get to him before he really hurt the guy.
Aberlour didn’t bother fighting the crowd. “Oliver!” Aberlour barked instead. Oliver didn’t look up, but he immediately released the guy and raised his hands to show he was done.
Marcus reached him just as Oliver turned to look directly at Aberlour.
“What the fuck!” Aberlour looked down at the bleeding sailor who was barely able to stand. He was holding his nose, probably to keep the blood from pooling on his shirt. Fat lot of good that would do.
“Fucker!” The sailor roared as he stood up straight.
“Shut up, Craig,” someone said, pulling at the guy’s uniform to hold him back.
Aberlour rolled his eyes and stepped between them, tugging Oliver by the arm. Oliver refused to move, his eyes burning with anger.
“Give it up,” Aberlour barked, displeased. He tugged on Oliver’s arm again and saw the Seaman move aggressively towards Oliver.
“Craig!” Someone shouted just as the asshole jumped forward with a knife in his hand.
It was rare to hear that a sailor had attacked a Force Recon Marine with a knife.
It was one of those what-the-hell scenarios.
Especially since this particular Seaman was an engineering department apprentice with zero combat experience, and Aberlour and Oli—well, they had extensive knowledge of how to kill a man.
Aberlour didn’t break a sweat.
He caught the guy’s forearm, twisted it, and watched as the Seaman fell to his knees screaming. Then, Aberlour shoved him backwards, snatching up the knife as it fell out of the guy’s hand, and immediately pressed the blade against the guy’s neck.
“Please!” the guy begged fearfully.
Aberlour hesitated for a single moment. Oliver’s hand settled on his shoulder, but before he could say anything, Aberlour flipped the knife closed and punched the guy.
The Seaman fell limply to the floor, unconscious.
“Clean that up!” Aberlour barked at the Seamen all standing around watching the fight. Then he turned and walked right out of the mess hall. He didn’t have to look to know that Oliver was following him.
Most ships were a maze of long narrow corridors. Aberlour wasn’t exceptionally tall at 6’1”, but he still felt like ducking every time he went through a doorway. The close quarters didn’t help his anger. It felt like he was about to explode.
He walked into their stateroom and turned to face Oliver as he shut the door behind them.
“What the fuck happened?” Aberlour demanded, jaw tight.
“Guy was being an asshole,” Oliver replied.
“We’re surrounded by sailors.”
“He took it too far,” Oliver retorted, arms crossed over his chest. He was avoiding Aberlour’s gaze, which was unusual.
“What’d he say? That you had big teeth? Stupid hair? That your mom was a whore?” Aberlour asked. They weren’t fucking kids anymore. They’d been trained to withstand torture, but Oliver had gotten into a public fight over a little hazing. What the actual fuck?
“He called me a fag,” Oliver said, anger obvious as he spat it out.
Aberlour couldn’t help laughing at that juvenile remark.
He sat down on one of the bottom bunks, creasing the pristine cover. Ghost would have a fit if Abe didn’t put it back just right. He couldn’t care less. His laughter was bouncing off the walls of the cabin, echoing loudly in their tin can of a room.
Oliver’s expression was growing darker by the second.
“Shut up!” he roared, obviously offended.
Abe fought for composure, but the pout on Darling’s face was hard to ignore.
“It’s not fucking funny!”
But it was. It really was. Aberlour stopped laughing, snorting once more for emphasis and shook his head at Oliver.
“He called you a fag, so you got into a fight with him,” Aberlour summarized.
“Like you wouldn’t have done the same!” Oliver snarled back, taking a step forward.
“Of course not,” Aberlour said, leaning casually back in the bed. “Because first of all, I’m not an eight-year-old, and second, it turns out that I am a fag.”
Oliver Darling had never been good at staying angry. Aberlour watched in real time as it was wiped off his face completely, replaced by a grin that he tried his hardest to hide. He turned his head to the side and bit his bottom lip.
“Not like you can talk, you thought about killing him for a second,” Oliver said, trying to change the topic.
“He was going to stab you,” Aberlour shrugged.
“It wasn’t your fight, though. You didn’t know what started it,” Oliver replied, trying to prove a point he’d already lost.
“He was going to stab you,” Aberlour repeated, leaning forward, staring intensely at Oliver. “Doesn’t fucking matter why. I’d have killed him for trying.”
Oliver laughed and shook his head. Then he turned and locked the door. Aberlour didn’t have time to question why before Oliver sank to his knees in front of him, a shit-eating grin on his handsome face.
“You’re a romantic fucker, you know that?”
Aberlour didn’t get the chance to reply before he was rendered speechless.